Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Just cuz
Yeah, I know... I suck. It's been a week and a half of ups and downs and all-arounds. I'm kinda sick of looking at this poor neglected blog, so JUST CUZ! the following meme is space filler. Maybe I'll delete once a new post is up. But it's fairly entertaining, plus it's homage to Mush for having never done her earlier meme that entailed the innards of purses...
In this one, using your favorite search engine, type in your first name and the word 'needs' in quotes (ie: "Cooter needs") and list the top 10 results. Here's mine...
1. Cooter needs to grow up.
2. Cooter needs a loving, patient and quiet home with understanding people.
3. Cooter needs to see Bubba.
4. Cooter needs auto parts.
5. Cooter needs to shut his mouth.
6. Cooter needs to breathe!
7. Cooter needs no aesthetic or sociological defense.
8. Cooter needs to get back under the car.
9. Cooter needs our help.
10. Cooter needs to shave it.
A few others that I kinda liked were: "Cooter needs to stay off the tennis court" and "Cooter needs his wacking stick". When I tried the search with "Angela" and "Angie" the results were pretty repetitive, though one in particular really stuck out: "Angie needs a night of blinding sex to get out of the coma..." Uh, yep. But maybe I should shave it first. Or perhaps I'm in a coma because I forgot to breathe? Hmm...
Who dat snappin' back? |
In this one, using your favorite search engine, type in your first name and the word 'needs' in quotes (ie: "Cooter needs") and list the top 10 results. Here's mine...
1. Cooter needs to grow up.
2. Cooter needs a loving, patient and quiet home with understanding people.
3. Cooter needs to see Bubba.
4. Cooter needs auto parts.
5. Cooter needs to shut his mouth.
6. Cooter needs to breathe!
7. Cooter needs no aesthetic or sociological defense.
8. Cooter needs to get back under the car.
9. Cooter needs our help.
10. Cooter needs to shave it.
A few others that I kinda liked were: "Cooter needs to stay off the tennis court" and "Cooter needs his wacking stick". When I tried the search with "Angela" and "Angie" the results were pretty repetitive, though one in particular really stuck out: "Angie needs a night of blinding sex to get out of the coma..." Uh, yep. But maybe I should shave it first. Or perhaps I'm in a coma because I forgot to breathe? Hmm...
Thursday, October 13, 2005
It's official!!
I am a homeowner. I have a thick sheaf of paper, a ring of keys, and one helluva sense of elation to prove it. If I'd known it was this simple, I'd have done it years ago. Have a stellar weekend everyone!!
Who dat snappin' back? |
Friday, October 07, 2005
The colors of fall
Every year around this time, the trees that line our lazy streets turn the most magnificent shades of Hawkeye gold, Flaming Carrot orange, and a gorgeous red that can be found on the buffed and de-calloused toes of just about any co-ed that goes in for a pedi at La James School of Beauty. It's simply breathtaking to drive to work, the grocery store, the laundromat.
But with these seasonal colors comes something else entirely: COLD. People, it got down in the low 30s last night. And guess who still doesn't have control over her heating and cooling? You got it. Me. As I was whipping up a big ol' pot of cabbage and potato soup last night, the sweatsuit I was wearing didn't quite keep me warm enough. Out came the space heater. Still not enough. So, as I have had to do in the past, I turned the oven on to 500 and let it permeate the air with blessed waves of heat and the smell of something I had forgotten.
By the time I went to bed, it had gotten up to *maybe* 64 degrees in my apartment. I turned off the oven, left the door open so the critters could enjoy the last tendrils of stinky warmth, and crawled into bed. I keep the door to my bedroom shut... otherwise, the cats arm wrestle on my abdomen or chew on my head. And I don't like that. Anyway, I had contemplated on sleeping in my usual attire (t-shirt and undies... socks if it's cold), but when I yawned and could see my breath, I decided that sleeping in a sweatsuit wasn't such a bad idea.
The morning dumptruck under my window at 4:30 this morning roused me enough to realize that it was downright freezing. Had I left a window open? Nope. Was the heat vent open? Yep. Was anything coming out? Yep... cold air. Being the morning person I am, I got all fetal and pulled the covers up over my head. Then I farted. Cabbage soup. Out comes the head. This turtle-esque maneuvering lasted about two hours when I finally couldn't take it anymore.
Like every morning, I got up, put on slippers, stretched, and went to the bathroom. I almost shrieked when my bare bottom hit the toilet seat. We're talking cooooold. I walked down the hallway, turned on the living room light, and checked the wall thermometer. It was FIFTY-EIGHT DEGREES in my apartment! So I did what anyone would do. I turned the oven back on, got the coffee going, then hiked down to the bar in my jammies to turn the heat up.
Yes. To turn the heat. Up. Instead, I had to turn it ON. To my fellow co-worker who worked the closing shift last night: thanks for that. And for leaving the fan turned on so that it blew NOT WARM air on me all night.
Am I going to miss my apartment? Take a guess. Hint: my favorite fall color is not the misty pale of my morning yawn.
Who dat snappin' back? |
But with these seasonal colors comes something else entirely: COLD. People, it got down in the low 30s last night. And guess who still doesn't have control over her heating and cooling? You got it. Me. As I was whipping up a big ol' pot of cabbage and potato soup last night, the sweatsuit I was wearing didn't quite keep me warm enough. Out came the space heater. Still not enough. So, as I have had to do in the past, I turned the oven on to 500 and let it permeate the air with blessed waves of heat and the smell of something I had forgotten.
By the time I went to bed, it had gotten up to *maybe* 64 degrees in my apartment. I turned off the oven, left the door open so the critters could enjoy the last tendrils of stinky warmth, and crawled into bed. I keep the door to my bedroom shut... otherwise, the cats arm wrestle on my abdomen or chew on my head. And I don't like that. Anyway, I had contemplated on sleeping in my usual attire (t-shirt and undies... socks if it's cold), but when I yawned and could see my breath, I decided that sleeping in a sweatsuit wasn't such a bad idea.
The morning dumptruck under my window at 4:30 this morning roused me enough to realize that it was downright freezing. Had I left a window open? Nope. Was the heat vent open? Yep. Was anything coming out? Yep... cold air. Being the morning person I am, I got all fetal and pulled the covers up over my head. Then I farted. Cabbage soup. Out comes the head. This turtle-esque maneuvering lasted about two hours when I finally couldn't take it anymore.
Like every morning, I got up, put on slippers, stretched, and went to the bathroom. I almost shrieked when my bare bottom hit the toilet seat. We're talking cooooold. I walked down the hallway, turned on the living room light, and checked the wall thermometer. It was FIFTY-EIGHT DEGREES in my apartment! So I did what anyone would do. I turned the oven back on, got the coffee going, then hiked down to the bar in my jammies to turn the heat up.
Yes. To turn the heat. Up. Instead, I had to turn it ON. To my fellow co-worker who worked the closing shift last night: thanks for that. And for leaving the fan turned on so that it blew NOT WARM air on me all night.
Am I going to miss my apartment? Take a guess. Hint: my favorite fall color is not the misty pale of my morning yawn.
